i make up stories

sometimes i make up stories of people a life i crave for. happiness in endless amounts, getting drunk with joy and grasping hope in my hands, that's want i crave in reality. i put pieces of myself in those people who don't exist and make them a better version of my self because it's easy to do so, fighting demons and defending them is easier by simply threading words, because the demons aren't like the ones of the real world. reality is harsh, it strikes you like the rays of the sun on a day during mid-summer, wanting you to sink inside your own being, curling up in a cocoon instead of facing it.